


24-Hour Cancellation Policy

by alexanderavery998



Series: Hors D’oeuvres [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Canonical Character Death, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Franklyn Froideveaux - Freeform, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal but with zombies, M/M, POV Hannibal Lecter, Pre-Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Season 1, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, Will also doesn't know yet, Will doesn't know yet, Zombie AU, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanderavery998/pseuds/alexanderavery998
Summary: Hannibal learns about the spreading zombie virus the hard way: by being attacked by a patient and found by Will Graham.





	24-Hour Cancellation Policy

**Author's Note:**

> _I cross-post here (AO3), Wattpad, and FFN as_ @alexanderavery998. _If you find my fics anywhere else, please let me know, because that means they have been reposted without my permission._
> 
> This is a one-shot, but I loved writing it so much that it’s not off the table as a longer work. Written for a Wattpad Halloween fanfic contest. Hope you enjoy!

Hannibal Lecter knew as soon as he opened the door to greet his next patient that something was wrong.

Franklyn Froideveaux was one of his least favorite patients, a lonely, neurotic man who had an unfortunate tendency to latch onto whoever his current psychiatrist was. He had accosted Hannibal at the opera and stalked him to the market to talk about fancy cheeses, lacking the slightest subtlety. He dredged up strong feelings of pity and disgust that were increasingly difficult to mask during therapy sessions. But there was something off today that had nothing to do with his many neuroses.

Franklyn smelled sick.

It was sickly sweet, but not like the sweet heat of fever or even infection; no, this sweetness was more akin to rot, to mouldering organic material, to dying flesh. It had a sharp tang to it that made Hannibal recoil.

“Good evening, Franklyn,” he said, but he pulled the door towards himself to discourage him from stepping forward. “Are you feeling alright? You look unwell.”

Indeed he did: when Franklyn took a shaky step towards him, the sweat on his pale forehead glistened in the light.

Hannibal took a step back.

“My twenty-four hour cancellation policy does not apply to sudden onset of illness,” he said, taking another step back as Franklyn swayed. “I would much prefer my ill patients stay home and get well than come to therapy. Appointments can always be rescheduled.”

Franklyn took another step towards him, and Hannibal recoiled in disgust — his skin was thin and veiny, like paper left out in the rain, and it was drenched in a sheen of sweat. He looked like a corpse.

Hannibal barely had time to process this before Franklyn leapt forward and knocked him over, arms wrapping clumsily around his middle. Hannibal wriggled out of his grip and rolled away on instinct. He stood and took several quick steps back, reaching for the scalpel on his desk.

“Mr. Froideveaux, this is highly improper behavior. I encourage you to go home.” Hannibal fingered the scalpel. “I cannot promise this will go well if you stay.”

But Franklyn wasn’t listening. He swayed, eyes unfocused and movements jerky, before diving at Hannibal again, mouth wide open. Hannibal had the strangest impression that he was trying to bite him. He drove the scalpel into Franklyn’s neck, then snapped his neck for good measure. The body dropped to the ground, already beginning to decay.

_ Hmm. Interesting. _

Hannibal was mulling over what to do next when he heard a familiar voice say his name. It was Will Graham, standing in the doorway to his office. He took a step in, glanced at the body, and raised an eyebrow at Hannibal.

“Am I intruding on something?”

“No.” Hannibal pulled out his handkerchief and wiped off the scalpel. “My patient attacked me. I was acting in self-defense.”

Will slowly stepped forward, his eyes on the body. “I guess I don’t have to warn you about the zombie virus going around, then — you’ve already found one.”

“Zombie virus?”

Will came closer, and for a second, Hannibal froze: there was an unusual scent coming from him, too, and he really didn’t want to have to kill him. But after a deeper sniff, he relaxed. It was sickly sweet, but it was just regular old encephalitis. Hannibal could handle that.

Will frowned, distracted from Hannibal’s question. “Did you just _ smell _ me?” He shook his head. “Actually, never mind, not now.” He rubbed his beard, looking suddenly awkward. “Yeah, uh, zombie virus. I heard about it from an emergency news broadcast. And I figured, I live in the middle of nowhere, Virginia... If you need a place to hideout...” He chewed on his lip. “They’re saying to avoid populated areas where the virus can spread. Baltimore is...very populated.”

Warmth spread through Hannibal’s chest, and he gave a tiny, pleased smile. “Are you offering me a place to stay?”

Will flushed. “Uh, yeah. It’s not much — and you know I’ve got seven dogs — well, and I’ll have to find a place for you to sleep, but...”

Hannibal cut him off. “I would be forever indebted and very grateful, thank you.”

Will’s relieved smile could’ve lit a candle. Hannibal made a mental note to take care of Will’s encephalitis as soon as possible and began packing at once. After all, it wasn’t every day that there was a miniature zombie apocalypse and he got to stay with Will.

Things were looking up.


End file.
